A Christmas Memory
by GoSherlocked
Summary: This story was written for a Secret Santa prompt on BBC Sherlock - Fan Forum. Someone wished for happy childhood memories of Sherlock and Mycroft.


This story was written for a Secret Santa prompt on BBC Sherlock - Fan Forum. Someone wished for happy childhood memories of Sherlock and Mycroft.

**A Christmas Memory**

"You promised." John remained adamant. After three glasses of mulled wine he felt he was able to cope with two Holmeses. He pointed at the empty red wine bottle lying on the living room floor and grinned. "Your turn, Sherlock." He paused. "And Mycroft, you will keep your mouth shut for once."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Go on, John, truth or dare? "

"Truth."

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

Mycroft opened his mouth, but John was prepared. "No snide remarks, no threats, no objections. Are we clear on that? So, Sherlock, tell me about your happiest Christmas memory."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You know what Christmas is, don't you? Tree, mistletoe, presents, silly hats, lots of food, bright-eyed children …"

"You know I do Christmas just to keep you and Mrs Hudson happy."

Before John could say anything Mycroft spoke. "Heavens, John, this is ridiculous. Sherlock never had any sentimental fondness for Christmas. When he was five he deduced the contents of the presents from the colour of the bows and the exact amount of hot toddy Father had drunk from the angle of his tie." He turned to look at Sherlock. "And what about the Boxing Day you used your new chemistry set to blow up Mummy's best Wedgwood?"

"It was an experiment," Sherlock replied haughtily.

"And I remember you deducing the vicar's affair with …"

John got to his feet, raised his arms and yelled "Stop it!" Stunned silence. "Just this once. Do you know what the word H-A-P-P-Y means? Do you have any idea of the concept behind this word? Or are your brilliant minds incapable of grasping what that means to the general public?"

Awkward silence.

"So please, just this once and just for me, Sherlock - do what you are told."

He fell back into the chair, crossed his arms and looked expectantly from one brother to the other.

Sherlock cleared his throat and threw Mycroft a look John might have called insecure if this word had existed in connection with the Holmes brothers.

"Well, there is one thing I remember. I must have been nearly four. Some weeks before Christmas Mycroft and I went into town. There was a toy shop which had this big, colourful pirate ship in the window, completely made of plastic, with lots of skulls, and treasure chests, and little people wielding plastic swords. It was totally tasteless and very expensive. And I loved it."

There was something in Sherlock's voice that John had never heard before. Longing? Wistfulness? He looked over at Mycroft and detected a softness in his face he had not noticed before and which he would have deemed impossible had he not seen it with his own eyes.

"Of course I did not tell my parents about it. They preferred strictly educational toys made of natural materials. Or musical instruments."

There was something in the atmosphere that made John nearly hold his breath.

"Well, Christmas came and I kept thinking about this ship. I dreamt of being a pirate at that age. Sentimental, of course, but there you are." He took a sip from his wine which would have been cold by now. "On Boxing Day I did not expect a surprise as I still remembered

the Montessori Hundreds Board I'd gotten last year." He made a pause and looked at the wine in his glass. "And then there were the presents. Lots of useful stuff, a nice globe, a kids' introduction to chemistry - and a very big box in different wrapping paper with garish colours and toys printed on it. Suddenly my heart was hammering. My hands trembled when I ripped open the paper and there it was - the pirate ship from the shop window. So Mycroft had told them. It was the first time my parents got me something they did not approve of but which I wanted. And for a second I believed that there might be a Father Christmas after all."

John turned his head when he heard a soft chuckle. "What, Mycroft? This was a wonderful story and you're poking fun at –"

"No," Sherlock said suddenly, his voice sounding slightly choked. "No, he isn't. Pocket money?"

Mycroft shrugged. "Four months and Aunt Claire's birthday allowance."

"I never thanked you."

"You never knew."

"But I do now." Sherlock got up and clinked his glass against Mycroft's. "Cheers, brother." He looked at John. "Happy?"

"Oh, God, yes."


End file.
